


Sensory Memory

by Ava_Jean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brother Feels, Clothes Sharing, Drinking, Fluff, Hints of heterosexual sex, Kissing, M/M, Mild underage wincest, Original Female Character - Freeform, Pining, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-08-19 16:53:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8217754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ava_Jean/pseuds/Ava_Jean
Summary: Sam has been 'borrowing' Dean's shirts for years





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [padaleckifantrash](https://archiveofourown.org/users/padaleckifantrash/gifts).



The only good thing about this town is that it has a bar within walking distance of the motel. At least that’s what Dean Winchester thinks as walks home slowly in the low evening light. The kicker is that it’s the kind of bar that doesn’t check ID’s as long as you’re paying a customer. A crumpled $10 on the counter and a bat of his long lashes later 18-year-old Dean was filled with as much beer and bourbon he could afford. But now it was time to stumble home back for some Magic Fingers and TV with Sammy.  


Sam and Dean had been holed up in the roadside motel for over a week now. Their father was working a case out of town and would be back at the end of the month. Sam was starting to get settled at his new school, so Dean offered to stay behind and take care of him till John returned. The thought of letting his father head out alone made Dean uneasy, but he couldn’t bear the look on Sammy’s face if he told him he had to switch schools again.

Dean’s keys missed the lock twice before he finally gets it in the slot and lets himself inside. Normally they’d have the room dead bolted too, but he told Sam he wouldn’t be out too long. 

“Hey baby bro,” Dean slurs a little. The booze is making his skin warm and his head swim.  
He carefully steps over the salt line at the front door before shuffling over to his bed and flopping down. 

“Hey Dean,” Sam replies distractedly. He’s seated at the kitchenette’s table totally immersed in some kind of textbook; head propped up by his right hand, chewing on the end of the pen in his left. 

Sam’s disinterest actually makes Dean smile a little. His brother the bookworm. At just 14 it was already obvious that he was crazy smart; the kind of smart that could take you anywhere in life. Dean should tell him that some time.

Dean’s heavy, booze filled head lolls to the side of its own accord. It’s the first time all night he can see Sammy properly. His back is to Dean, but he can tell Sam’s just stepped out of the shower. His usually straight chestnut hair now sports damp, curled ends. He and John fight about it constantly and Dean jibes him about needing “just five minutes with the clippers” to sort it out. But tonight Dean can see how much the long hair suits him. It gives Sam a softness to his face that Dean didn’t really see until now.  


And that’s when Dean realises what Sam has on. It’s his favourite t-shirt; faded grey with a peeling red and yellow logo across the chest. John had found it a thrift shop and given it to him for his birthday several years ago. The material almost threadbare from use, but that’s why Dean slept in it most nights.

The shirt was clearly too big for Sam. While his left side was covered, the neck draped over his right, exposing a slip of honey toned skin. Even from across the room Dean could see the fine outline of Sam’s shoulder blade and the flutter of muscle as he scribbled on the page. The shirt was long him too, it came down to his mid-thigh, covering his boxers completely, and for a moment Dean wasn’t sure if he was wearing any at all. The thought his heart speed up and little and heat rise to his cheeks.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” Dean drawled quietly.

“Yeah…” Sam replied not looking up, “I didn’t have the chance to put my stuff through the wash yet. Hope s’ok.”

“Yeah…yeah that’s just fine Sammy.”

Dean let his gaze rest on his brother. There was something so tender about Sammy wearing his clothes. There he was, just 14 years old, doing his homework, focusing on nothing more than getting the math equations right. The lives he and Sam both led were far from innocent and they were asked to deal with things no teenager should ever have to. But seeing Sam in his shirt made Dean feel connected to him. He was able to share something with Sam that didn’t include refilling shotgun shells, fake ID’s or combat training.  


For a moment Sam seemed like an everyday teenager swiping his big brother’s clothes. And it made Dean love him just a little bit more.


	2. Chapter 2

Hearing Sam Winchester laugh was a multi-sensory experience. Sam had a laugh that you could hear, smell, see and taste. Sam’s laugh was a cold shower on a hot day. It was like hearing your favourite song radio, the first sip of cold beer after work or waking up to sunshine on your face. But it’s all those things (and more) when you’re the reason he’s laughing.

That’s how Dean feels right now surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans at the Saturday night Jayhawks game. He’d scraped together loose change for months to get Sam tickets for his sixteenth birthday. It had taken them all day to drive to the stadium and Sam hadn’t stopped beaming the whole way.

A blur of movement to his right jolts Dean out of his thoughts. The point guard has just scored a critical basket and the whole crowd is on its feet, including Sam. He’s long and lanky now, pre-teen softness giving way to lean muscle and a dusting of dark hair all over. Dean can tell Sam’s going to be a lady killer and it makes him swell with pride. Beauty and brains…so unfair.

Sam’s bouncing on his toes and clapping with his arms above his head. The movement exposes the smooth skin of tummy. Dean is mesmerized. From his seated position he can make out the smooth and oh-so-biteable curve of his brother’s hip bones. He swallows a lump in his throat. If he leant forward just a little he’d be able to press his lips against the warm exposed skin, drag his teeth feather light along Sam’s hip. 

The image is sudden and unwelcome. Dean gives himself a violent inward shake until it goes away. 

Sam plops back down into his seat.

“Isn’t this great Dean, the Hawks are cleaning up!” 

Dean grins at the sight of Sam so happy.

“Well duh Sammy,” he replies and offers Sam some popcorn that he shovels eagerly into his mouth.  
____________________________________________________________________________

Sam’s prediction turns out to be correct. The beloved Kansas Jayhawks emerge victorious. Sam follows Dean out the Impala still buzzing with the excitement of the game.

“Thanks again Dean, best birthday ever,” he says, bumping up against his shoulder.

They’ve almost cleared the lot when Dean sees Sam looking longingly at the merchandise stand. It’s a simple pop up offering posters, jersey’s, flags and t-shirts. He’s rooting around in his pocket for cash before Sam even says a word.

There’s a crumpled $20 in his back pocket, half of which was supposed to cover groceries for the rest of the weekend. 

Sam sees Dean pull out the money and grabs his wrist, “Dean…no, it’s ok. This night has been cool enough, I don’t need some lame souvenir.” 

The unspoken thing is that Sam doesn’t want Dean going without for his sake. But fuck it, Dean thinks, he can go without a six-pack for one weekend. 

“It’s fine Sammy,” Dean scoffs, “besides you only turn 16 once, got have something to hold on to.”

They stop and smile at each other for moment. Something unreadable flashes across Sam’s face, but before Dean can get a proper read on it’s gone.

Dean hands the vendor the money and selects the largest size t-shirt they have. Sam’s getting taller by the month, so there’s no doubt in his mind he’ll grow into it. He wear’s it to bed every night that week. The royal blue Jayhawks colours bring out the blue hues in his eyes. 

As the years go on Sam still pulls out the shirt every now and then. Sometimes he’ll wear it when he needs something comfortable for a long night of research or for his morning run. Other times Dean sees it half hanging out of his duffle or in amongst the dirty laundry pile.

No matter how old he gets or what other shit they’re dealing with, the sight of that t-shirt never fails to make smile, just a little…and maybe, just maybe, stir up a flutter of something else inside.


	3. Chapter 3

There dad is gone most of the time now. Dean is almost 23 and Sam is a few months shy of 18. They’ve been adults for longer than they should have been. But their age makes it official now and they’re living more or less independently together in a shonky two-bedroom apartment. 

Dean met Allison at the diner down the street. She waitressed there on weekends and they quickly bonded over a mutual love of pie, early Metallica records and Clint Eastwood movies. She was warm, and sweet and that shy kinda sexy with loose brown curls that fell to her shoulders. It didn’t take them long to end up in bed together after her midnight shift ended. 

After they’re done Dean contemplates giving her his cell number, but an awkward itch in the back of his mind tells him it’s a bad idea. But Allison seems content with their little fling. She gives him a lingering kiss as she leaves and says to drop by for a slice pie in the future. 

About a month later Dean comes back from a supply run and all but has heart failure right there in the living room.   
There’s Sam, all lean teenage muscle and long limbs seated at the kitchen table, nose buried in a text book. He has one coltish leg extended under the table, the other is hugged into his chest. Dean stops breathing for a moment as he takes in the scene. Sammy’s got those damn shorts on again, the ripped pale denim ones he made himself out of a pair of old jeans. His brother’s fashion design skills leave a lot to be desired, and to the end result showed off more of Sam’s legs than was probably appropriate. But he brushed off Dean’s objections with a laugh, vowing only wear them around the house…. As if that made things any better.

But the worst part, the goddamn worst part is the shirt Sam’s wearing. It’s a football jersey actually, faded orange cotton with a white #01 painted on the front and back. The fucking shirt fits his baby brother about as well as the shorts. He doesn’t have much bulk to him yet, so the fabric hangs loosely over Sam’s shoulders. But over the he shot up like a weed and these days his height rivals Dean’s. So the hem of the shirt falls just above the waistband of Sam’s shorts. The tiniest of movements would make it ride up and reveal a slip of golden skin. 

And Dean has it before. The fucking shirt belonged to Allison. She’d worn it back to the apartment after her shift. Dean had later ripped it off in the heat of passion, leaving it to fall somewhere in the room. 

Dean somehow gets his legs to work again and makes his way into the kitchen to put the groceries away. Sam looks up from his book and flashes him a smile in greeting.

“Did you get the Twizzler’s Dee? You know I can’t focus without them.”

From this angle Dean can get a better look at his younger brother. The jersey is wrinkled, a tell-tale sign it hasn’t been washed. Sammy must have pulled it out from its hiding place and put it straight on. The sweat and smell of Dean’s lover still soaked into the fabric…the fabric that’s now touching Sam all over. The thought makes something in Dean’s stomach twist and flip. 

“Where’d you find that old thing?” Dean asks, nodding towards Sam’s new outfit.

Sam looks up at Dean’s words. A heartbeat of silence passes between them, and for a moment Sam’s face is unreadable. Dean doesn’t know why but suddenly his heart is racing. The unspoken question hangs in the air. He wants his brother to say he tossed in with the laundry one day. He wants him to say he picked it up cheap at the one clothing store in town. He wants him say he didn’t dig it out from behind Dean’s bed, inhale the scent, and decide to wear it anyway. Because if he doesn’t say that, then, well…Dean doesn’t know what to do with that. 

“Oh…just found it. I thought it was yours and I was outta clean stuff so…yeah.” 

Sam always was a bad liar.


	4. Chapter 4

Being a Winchester meant your life was going to turn out a certain way. A day job, a stable relationship and maybe a few kids just wasn’t on the cards. Dean knew that since he was a kid. But throughout the years he and Sam had made quite a go of it. They’d seen almost every corner of the country, died, come back and died again. They’d felt love and loss and saved the world a few times. 

But the one thing that remained constant was their presence in each other’s lives, and at the ripe old age of 38, Dean was kinda proud of that fact. Having Sam beside him in the Impala, watching his back like always or being able to drink cold beers together after a long hunt was the one thing Dean felt he had to show for in this life. He would do anything to keep things with Sam as good as they are; even if that meant stamping down feelings that got stirred up every once in a while.

Having the bunker was a blessing. It allowed Sam and Dean to more or less set up house and indulge in the little domestic duties that they were denied growing up. Dean cooked (which he was damn good at) and Sam did the dishes. Dean ironed and Sam did the laundry. 

That’s how Sam found himself in the basement of the bunker separating the colours and the whites one slow Tuesday night. 

Sam had his hips pressed up against the washing machine, resting his weight against it as he absent-mindedly traced his fingers over the faded blue fabric of his Jayhawks t-shirt. On the night Dean had bought it Sam balked at the idea of him getting such a large size. But as usual, his older brother had been right, Sam had grown into the shirt and he was still able wear now as adult. Consistency was such a rare thing in his life. Most of the things Sam cared about had a habit of getting damaged, disappearing or dying. The old shirt actually meant quite a lot to him. 

The fond memory of spending time with his brother brought a smile to his face. If he closed his eyes he Dean’s face full of joy; smiling, cheering right alongside Sam, his green eyes bright with excitement. The chilly night air had made Dean’s cheek tinge pink…no, no, no. He’d been brushing this feeling off for a long damn time and he could do it again. He inwardly shook himself to clear his thoughts before setting the cycle on the washing machine.

Sam was contemplating jerking off in the shower and going to bed early on his way back upstairs when he almost collided with Dean walking through the door.  
“Woah, watch it Moose,” Dean laughed, taking a step back.

“I found Die Hard on VHS in an old trunk in the living room. VHS! Can you believe that? Apparently even old crusty scholars like Bruce Willis. Wanna watch?”  
Sam fidgeted for a moment as he considered Dean’s offer. There was an unknown itch under his skin telling him to just bolt his bedroom door and turn in early, but he and Dean rarely got time to ‘veg out’, it was very tempting.

“Sure De, grab us some beers and I’ll meet you up there”

____________________________________________________

By the time Sam made it to the living room Dean was already sprawled out on the couch shovelling popcorn into his mouth. Sam grinned quietly at the image before getting comfortable in the little space that was left. Apparently, his older brother didn’t see the need to buzz an inch.

Bruce Willis was reversing a dump truck away from mortal danger when Dean stretched and yawned, snuggling deeper into the couch.

“Remember the last time we watched this?” he inquired, nudging Sam playfully with his socked foot.

“You were 16 and trying to pretend the blond Austrian assassin chick in this didn’t get you hard.”

Sam blushed and fidgeted. He didn’t know how to Dean tell his reaction all those years ago had nothing to do with the pretty blonde, and everything to do them watching the movie in their boxers since the AC was broken. 

Ninety minutes of gratuitous violence and four beers later the Winchester brother were half asleep on the couch. Dean had stretched out completely now, his legs draped over Sam’s thighs, eyelids drooping. A warm calm had settled over them both. The booze made Sam feel relaxed and warm, and all but cuddling with his brother made his heart swell. He loved his brother, he really did. 

In that moment it felt like Sam was outside his body. It wasn’t him who leaned forward quietly so as not to wake his now sleeping brother. It wasn’t him who hovered close to his face, drinking in each fine line, each freckle and those perfect full lips. And it wasn’t him who closed the gap, pressing his own lips against Dean’s for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t him, but it felt so right.

Decades of hunter training made Dean’s eyes flutter open at the touch of Sam’s lips. Green eyes with an unreadable expression bore into Sam’s own. The world slowed down and he could hear nothing but the pounding of his heart in his ears. He expected a violent shove or right hook to the jaw, but it never came.   
Instead a small, lopsided grin curled up Dean’s face.

“Finally,” he breathed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Like this work? Come say hi on my tumblr: www.tumblr.com/youandno-other


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